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As implied, a spatula floats through space. A curious sight for someone in reality, perhaps, but this was not physical space. This was the space of thought, the Source of Mind that feeds and is fed by consciousness.

So a spatula floats by, rotating on a strange axis in a ballet of its own seclusion. This spatula holds within it the power to manipulate the Source to an incredible degree. While few know of its existence, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that whoever found this spatula could potentially warp any aspect of reality to their liking.

In the Sunsmoke Clouds of the Daydream Beast, forces are already at work to locate it. A gaping jaw of harsh sunlight grinds its teeth, grinning at the possibility that it could very soon be free from this lucid dreamscape. It sends word to all residents of the Source to meet with it in the deepest reaches of the Clouds.

How did such a spatula come to float in space, you might ask? It was misplaced. Why was it misplaced? A lapse in judgement, perhaps. But who would misplace such a crucial item at such a crucial point in time?

Well, let's get right to that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Floating by a nebulous mass of glowing eyes was a 17th century pirate ship, sailing through the Speculating Skies. The vessel would appear to be flying aimlessly at a glance, but on closer inspection would reveal it appeared to be searching for something as it turned to face every angle before moving on to new spaces in the Source. It hoisted large white sails decorated with a crudely drawn smiley face.

On board manning the helm was an extravagently dressed crocodile man, presenting a long purple coat that swept across the floorboards and a pirate's hat bearing the same insignia as the sails. Beside him was a more casually dressed boy, leaning very closely towards adulthood.

The boy leaned over the side of the ship, peering into the deep thought that makes up the Source. Eventually he turned to the pilot, visually annoyed out of boredom. His voice was Australian, and carried with it a resourcefulness to make up for the stereotype.

"You've not told me what it is we're lookin' for, Kap. What am I meant to do?" He asked, not surprised in the slightest. Kaptain Erratik had a habit of being vague. And while it usually had a point, Norm had always wished he would just be a little more straightforward.

"Oh, Norm, I pity you!" The Kaptain boomed. The louder his voice, the more his yellow eyes seemed to beam out of his head. "Grow some eyes and an extra brain and you'll find yourself knowing what you seek but not being able to retrieve it." He had always thought of himself as a wise man, but Norm merely rolled his eyes and sighed at the pseudo-philosophy. Norm was one step ahead, and knew this was in reference to the girl he had always had a crush on that remained unrequited. The Source to him was just a bunch of actualised metaphors, and he saw through them all.

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Jane Blackmore trudged down a lonely path, please note that 'path' is a figurative term here, as there are no roads in The Source. Not this far out, anyways; there had been attempts to pave proper paths and roads, but all attempts to do so were met with extreme resistance from the plant-based Sourcekinds on the basis that such actions are racist discrimination towards immotile greenery. Under strong public pressure, all attempts to pave roads through here and related construction projects were quickly terminated. Rumours have it that one of the higher-ups that made this decision is related to one of the trees here...such rumours were quickly dismissed due to a lack of evidence and the alleged starter of these rumours was promptly hanged and incinerated for slandering authority figures.

Jane knew about the history of this area, and gave her surroundings the evil eye. Clearly, she was not impressed with the unfortunate lack of roads. This being The Source, some of the grass and plants literally shrivelled in terror and slight annoyance as some lumbering creature stepped over them again as Jane stared at them with the look of undisguised disdain before quickly shifting back into place with a slight rustle between them.

You know, this place is a dump. I mean, look at it, there's no toilets; no restaurants; the locals are assholes and most of them don't give good directions. A Voice abruptly interrupted rudely, ruining the...okay, admittedly mediocre scenery, but Jane appreciated the silence, dammit.

Shut up, you know you are annoying, right? I never asked for your opinions and I certainly never asked the locals for directions.Jane retorted snidely, attacking the Voices in her head. Most of them had almost immediately chimed in, offering opinions on disjointedly, making it hard for her to concentrate.

I want to taste fooooood~

Ugh, I'm tired; we've walking for ages. Can't we rest? Don't you know getting good sleep is a vital part of being a healthy and productive person? Have you forgotten your health class teacher's advises already? Your feet hurts, why don't you go see someone 'bout that? I heard that there's some travellers capable of doing some pretty wondrous shit in the cities.

Yeah well, our very existence was founded upon the fact that we can annoy you. You should've aware of that ever since, oh I don't know, maybe when you went to the psychiatrist for the first time around?

Look, fine, I'll do whatever; jus-just shut up, okay? You're making my head hurt! She growled inwardly in frustration, her complexion paled, not that it made much of a difference, her sickly complexion was already bad enough that people would've mistaken her for an albino if it wasn't for the fact that she had mousy brown hair that told otherwise. Her hair needed a trim as well, but Sourcekind barbers are a rare commodity and having her hair cut any other way don't make a lick of difference. After all, a traveller's appearance is a more-or-less reflection of their state of mind/mental well-being; therefore, traditional methods of altering appearances no longer apply to them in any way. Which was a shame, because she also needed a shower; Jane reeks of some evil combination of rotten eggs, spoilt milk, dead fish, and dried blood left in a barrel to ferment on a hot summer day; she doubts she'll ever look healthy and smell like pine cones and flowers ever again. With or without a shower. She rubbed her temples distractedly as she tried to deal with the Voices in her head, they were growing stronger day by day.

She stumbled, and ultimately tripped on a loose vine hidden in the undergrowth and crashed onto the ground. She nicked one of her fingers in the process as well, spilling a few drops of black blood that is of an unnatural hue onto the ground. The plants' reacted with mischievous laughter and a billowing whistle that carried over the wind. She cursed inwardly, now wearing a scowl on her face as she climbed to her feet. Somehow, she knew this was going to be a long day.

»»-------------¤-------------««

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A patch of undisturbed soil, sprouting out of it a healthy green grass. Surrounding it was a platform of steel, and it floated in front of the horrid little creature that would be known as Squelch. It caught his attention, and while Squelch had a bet to fulfill, he could surely take his eyes off the wondering girl for a moment to ponder this curiosity.

Disgusting. The dream of some failing artist, no doubt.

Squelch did not like the curiosity.

Squelch resembled a toddler's crayon drawing of garbage personified. He appeared two dimensional, for one, and there was a stunning lack of detail in its form. Legs indistinguishable from his arms, four short black sticks protruded from his frightfully round torso. One arm was just a bit shorted than the other, but none of this disparity in detail compared to the abomination that was Squelch's face. It was roughly lemon shaped, and looked to take the image of human faeces if it wasn't for the strange blots of colour staining it. A pair of vicious eyes with olive pupils supported two squiggly eyebrows that furrowed in between them.

Truly, Squelch was a pathetic excuse for a Sourcekind. He smells like mouldy cheese, silent farts and play dough. Once he spiked a disco's punch bowl with chunks of himself, and ended up being the only one to drink the putrid stuff. Yet as he watches this wondrous display of beauty hover by, all Squelch feels is an intense dissatisfaction with it. Why, it was no where as perfect as Squelch was, surely. Something had to be done.

So, like a 2D image being dragged across a screen, Squelch willed himself to the top of the grass-steel platform. To justify himself for what he was about to do, Squelch yelled out:

"Everyone's a critic!" And he vomited all over the grass. His bile stained the steel, and caused a minimal amount of corrosion. Now the platform looked just like him. Oh joy.

In reality~Some failing artist snaps out of his daydream, and slaps himself for coming up with something so stupid.~And back

The bet! While forcing himself upon the passing concept, Squelch had almost forgotten. He had made a bet with one of the plants here. You see, Squelch gains pleasure from ruining others. The bet was for the plants to ruin something beautiful (or in his eyes, ugly) and in payment he would go on to find some other place to vandalise. And so the passing girl known as Jane Blackmore was the new target. It is a stretch, I suppose... thought Squelch. The girl didn't look half bad, and the scent that disgraced the flowers refreshed his mind. But the fingers, the symmetry, the anatomically viable structure and her three dimensions were abominations. Yeah. Show her what for! His body twisted into his face, and he squished back down into the ground to follow the girl more closely.

And... Strike! The plant got her, tripped her into the ground like a falling tree! Squelch snickered quietly as the plant found great joy in her misfortune. "But that's nothing," he whispered, "Check this out."

A image on the surface of the ground, Squelch would swim quickly up behind Jane before launching upwards and regurgitating a jet of bile down on her. The stuff is technically harmless, if only a little irritating to the skin and toxic if ingested. But those who had become victim to Squelch's hijinx would say there is nothing to wash off that dreadful stuff. Regardless if he hit or not, Squelch would land back down to assume he had anyway and enter a vile laughing fit.

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Jane saw a literal piece of shit spray a jet stream of liquified sewage towards her. It was an obvious low point in her life when even personified poop wanted to attack her. Seriously, it was bad enough that she had to deal with the plants, but now even the literal shit-stains of The Source wanted to attack her, that was...not good.

"What, you're just going to let him do it? Do you want to be covered in even more filth and smell worse than you already do? No offence, even though you already smell worse than a hobo who haven't showered for his entire life, but you aren't exactly doing yourself any favours by standing in the way of 2000cc of liquid dream-crusher. MOVE IT!!!

Look, I was about to move out of the way even if you didn't say anything. Jane thought with exasperation and lazily moved out of the way. She really don't feel motivated right now, especially since her newfound nemesis appears to be something that resembles a child's drawing of what garbage looks like. It inspires disgust more than abject terror.

Luckily, she managed to dodge out of the way just before the putrid fluid landed on the spot she had been standing on a few seconds before. An maniacal snickering could be heard in the distance.

Hey Jane, he did something that wasn't very nice now, didn't he? You know what to do with bad people, don't you? Shouldn't bad people be punished? You'll be a hero, cleaning up the scum of The Source. a Voice said persuasively, with a devilishly charming voice. It sounded soooo persuasive.

Jane concentrated on channeling power from her Source, some vile force that made her feel violated and repulsed every time she draws upon its power, it's something that was bother instinctively familiar and repulsive at the same time. She saw how the other Travellers had drawn power, and her Source felt nothing like how it was supposed to work. Strangely, unlike other travellers, she does not have the ability to create any thoughts that are capable of affecting the Source, all of her creations are temporary and are intangible. Perhaps the only upside is that, her illusion can seamlessly blend in within the dreamscape that is the Source.

An illusion of her gradually transforming into a terrifying androgynous demon that seemed to have crawled out of the depth of an Asuran hell was flawlessly projected onto The Source. She inwardly thanked the Blackmores, her adoptive parents, for their weird fascination with Eastern Mythologies and Esoteric Religions of the East, it certainly gave her plenty of inspirations.

"PUNY CREATURE, WHAT DARES THOU TO OFFEND THE INFERNAL ONE FROM THE SIX PATHS OF REINCARNATION?" She bullshitted with a satisfyingly melodramatic and booming voice, addressing the sentient feces with an aura of authority that she didn't realised that she possessed up until that moment.

You did well, that'll teach him to mess with you! Now, run away while you can; you can't keep up the illusion for long, girlie. One of the Voices said rather hurtfully, she wasn't sure which one, but she was pretty sure she hated it.

I know that. Be quiet. I don't want to talk to you, asshole.Jane thought back, as she quietly slipped out of the mirage and escaped from an angle that was conveniently blocked off by her towering illusion. Hopefully, that illusion can buy her enough time to run away before it realise that 'The Infernal One' was just a delightfully realistic illusion with no real impact on The Source.